


After-life

by redinblack



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And I Am Ignoring It, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It, Flint has cats, I only vaguely know Treasure Island, Implied Consent, Light breathplay, M/M, OT3, Post-Canon, Riding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23396821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redinblack/pseuds/redinblack
Summary: After the end of season 4, Silver arrives unexpectedly at James and Thomas's front door. Some conversations need to be had, but together, they will work toward their future.Will be SilverFlintHam in later chapters.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton/John Silver
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first posted fic, so please be kind! (Please also be kind in general)

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Flint, I should have… I’m so fucking sorry…” John Silver cried over and over, sobbing on the floor at James’s feet, right on their stoop, five months after Thomas had gotten his James back from the dead. 

Thomas found that, even after having heard much about this man and all he’d meant to James, he might not have made the connection if he hadn’t seen his husband’s reaction to the sudden appearance of the one-legged pirate at their door, or the way the tears had sprung to his eyes and he’d fallen to his knees before them, in a movement that had to have hurt him a great deal. 

This man, though one-legged and with long, dark curls, just like he’d expected from James’s incomplete and fragmented descriptions, held none of the imposing air or that larger-than-life presence that Thomas had somehow imagined he must have, as King of the Pirates of Nassau. This man, who arrived at their door in the fading light of the early evening just to crumble at James’s feet, looked thin, frail, even gaunt. His long locks were beyond tangled, crusted with salt and filth, his skin somehow both pale and dark with grime, his cheeks sunken, his eyes dull beyond the shine of his tears. 

James, for his part, stood frozen in front of the open door, which he still held in his left hand, the hand that bore the single ring he’d permitted himself to keep after ceremonially shedding the name Flint. He hadn’t moved from there since opening the door and recognizing his once quartermaster and seemed disinclined to change that on his own. 

From where he stood, Thomas could only glimpse his expression, but judging by the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders and the stance of his legs, as well as the remembered fondness in his voice as he’d retold some of their exploits, he felt safe in assuming there was no murderous rage to be found here, and decided it would not do to have this reunion in such an accessible and visible place as the front porch. 

Quickly scrutinizing the surrounding field, with their copses of trees half concealing the house of their closest neighbors, the Coopers, a ways down the dirt road, and the Smiths, a bit up the hill, Thomas determined there was little chance anyone had seen Long John Silver arrive at their door. Thus satisfied, Thomas gently approached the pirate king, extending his hand to him. 

“Why don’t you come in, Mr. Silver, so that we can have this reunion in the privacy of our home, perhaps around the table in the kitchen, and with a glass of wine?” 

James turned to him at the sound of his voice, looking more lost than Thomas had seen him in a decade, and Thomas felt the need to take his hand in reassurance. James’s hand trembled in his, before Thomas gave it a squeeze and then let it go in favor of helping John Silver up from the wooden floorboards. 

Silver, who had gone silent at his approach, briefly looked at him, before returning his eyes to James. 

“Fuck.” He said, through tears, though visibly trying to wrestle his feelings into some semblance of control. “I’m sorry for being so dramatic. I swear I didn’t mean to come here just to blubber at you.” 

He was still leaning on Thomas, trying to get control on his tear ducts, making no move to stand independently. Thomas looked around, confused. 

“Do you not have a crutch, Mr. Silver?” 

“I… might have dropped it…” he admitted, still unwilling to look away from James. At Thomas’s pointed silence, he continued. “By that oak tree down the road.” 

“Well,” Thomas said, “why don’t I help you to a chair, while James goes to retrieve it?” James made no move toward said oak tree. In fact, he didn’t move at all. “James? Would you please retrieve Mr. Silver’s crutch from near the oak tree? There’s enough light, still, and Mr. Silver might feel better to have the option of moving about on his own.” 

James hesitated, looking between the two of them, but didn’t say a word. 

“James, I promise we’ll both be here when you return. It is the work of minutes to walk there and back, we will only have moved from the door to the table. Go.” 

At this, James nodded tersely and turned to go, quickly striding out the door and leaving it ajar. 

“Good. Let us relocate to the kitchen, shall we?” 

Thomas helped John Silver into one of the simple wooden chairs that surrounded their well-worn table, gathered three cups and a bottle of wine, and sat down on another one. 

“Thank you, Lord Hamilton.” 

Silver’s voice was low and quiet in the early evening air, his face downturned. 

“You are quite welcome, Mr. Silver, though I’m sure you are aware I no longer hold that title, nor do I take pride in that name. We go by McGraw here, James and I.” Thomas paused, but received no more than a nod in response. “I must thank you, as well, for returning James to me. I know the circumstances were not ideal, and perhaps you could explain some points of this story to me later, but since the demise of Governor Ashe, there were very few people left who knew us both to be alive and had any inclination towards reuniting us.” 

“I’m sorry”, Silver said again, “I’m sorry for delivering him in chains, and I’m sorry I locked him in that place instead of getting you out.” He kept his face turned to his left hand, clasped around his cup, but Thomas saw in the tension on his face, the set of his shoulders, that he had sensed the return of James, with a bulky wooden crutch in hand. 

James closed the door behind himself, set the crutch down next to it, and then paused before moving closer to them. He looked between them, his expression questioning, and Thomas could only wonder at what James saw on his own face, but Silver looked wary and cautious. 

“Why did you?” James asked at last, his eyes boring into Silver, refusing to look away, only blinking as much as absolutely necessary, in that way James always had when he was digging for answers, for clues in the tilt of one’s mouth or the twitch of an eyebrow. 

“It was the only solution I could think of. I needed to stop you, I needed to stop that bloody war, and the only way I could think to do it was to separate you from her. The two of you, together, you could have achieved anything, convinced anyone to continue what you started, what we all started, but you would have never stopped, you couldn’t, you were so set on destroying fucking England, on your revenge. But I knew what made you, I knew the story that birthed Flint unto this world, and after Miranda… The only way I could possibly stop you was to kill you, or to return you to an earlier state of being, and knowing what I knew, the choice was obvious to me…”

“Except you apparently did try to have James killed, did you not?” Thomas had to ask, “Why do that, if your purpose was to bring him to Savannah and reunite us there?” 

Silver shot James a wary look before turning to Thomas. 

“I’m sorry. I handled it poorly, but with Madi’s life at stake, and that bloody maniac breathing down my neck, I couldn’t think straight, and I made mistakes. I’m sorry. I should have just told you about the plantation as soon as Morgan confirmed Lord Hamilton was there, but with everything that was happening, I… I fucked up. I’m sorry. When you stole the cache, I was so afraid of what it meant for Madi, I could only see it as you condemning her to die.” 

For a long moment, James just looks at Silver, then Thomas sees his shoulders drop and his brow draw tight, and James moves toward the bottle of wine and the third cup, serving himself a generous amount and sinking heavily into a chair. 

“I understand your reasons”, James said at long last, “but surely there were other ways to accomplish your ends. Surely, for all your scheming, you could have come up with something better than waiting for our partnership to fall apart and then use Thomas against me. Surely you knew I could not believe you in those circumstances. How long did you even know, before that day? How long did you keep him from me?” 

“Before the Spanish arrived… a couple of days before, maybe.” 

James stroked his beard pensively, his green eyes intent on Silver’s face. 

“You asked me if I would give it all up if it meant having Thomas back. Did you know then that it was within my reach?” 

“No, I did not. I asked you that question to gauge your reaction, but Max had only just told me about the plantation. The possibility had occurred to me, but I only decided to send Morgan with an enquiry afterward. I knew then that you would not divert your attention from the war for a farfetched possibility of Thomas having survived, and if I wanted to stop you, which was beginning to sound like the only way to keep Madi safe, I would have to be certain of it.” 

“Billy fucking Bones. He did get into your head, after all.” 

“He did,” Silver admitted, “Though I honestly can’t say I wouldn’t have come to the same conclusion, in time.” 

Thomas, having taken this all in silently, and compiled it with the information James had voluntarily shared and his own meditations, now felt the need to intervene. 

“May I ask, Mr. Silver, what was your intention in reuniting James and I, beyond ending your war?” 

Silver looked somewhat startled at the question, and James eyed him rather suspiciously. 

“Pardon?” 

“You must admit, Mr. Silver, that you knew very little of me beyond the bare bones of my relationship to James. You could have little insight as to my feelings and motivations based on James’s memory of me, ten years in the past, and whatever information Mr. Oglethorpe felt relevant to impart on your Mr. Morgan. It follows, then, that you could have no security in whatever assumptions you made about how he would be received, after all that had passed in that time. My question, Mr. Silver, is whether this outcome is the one you had hoped for, or if it would have mattered to you either way.” 

“Of course it mattered!” Silver cried out, his voice hoarser and his eyes shinier than they had been a moment ago. “I wanted both of them alive, more than anything, I would have done whatever I had to do to make that happen, but I wanted you happy. I wanted you at peace, far from that bloody war and that bloody island. I wanted you to be able to walk away from the sea, to have your oar confused for a shovel, I wanted you to be able to return Flint to the sea.” 

“And Madi?” James asked, “what did you want for her?” 

Silver sighed and looked down, toward the tabletop, toward both his hands around the tin cup. 

“I wanted her alive, more than anything. I wanted the possibility of a life with her. I feared she might never forgive me, but I knew I could live with her hate, her anger, if it meant she was safe.” 

“How is she?” James wanted to know, and his voice was suddenly so much softer. 

“Angry. I do not think she has much capacity for hate, but she will not forgive me. She will never trust me again, even if she can now admit to understanding my reasons. I did take this from her, knowing what it meant, and she knows I cannot regret it in any way that will satisfy her. She is working with her mother to strengthen and protect their community, and I am to have no part in it. I am never again to set foot on Marron Island. She has allowed me to have letters delivered through Max, but I do not even know if she will remain on that island, after having their location so widely known. I fear I may never see her again.” 

From James’s expression, Thomas knew he doubted any real reconciliation between his two friends was possible, and that he took no pleasure from the thought. 

They were, all three of them, quiet for a while, each thinking their own thoughts. The wine remained largely untouched. 

“What news of Nassau?” James enquired after a prolonged silence. 

“I’m not sure I know anything you might not have heard yet. Featherstone rules officially, but of course Max is the one with the real power. Rackham still sails. They all seem very civilized, but god knows how long that will last. What little is left of our crew has joined other crews, I heard.” 

The important conversation seemed to be done for now; both James and Silver seemed rather deep into thought, only occasionally looking up at each other, or at Thomas. Thomas himself thought he would likely not get far into his own train of thought, just sitting around and looking into the void, so he quietly stood up, waving away James’s questioning look, and went about the evening tasks like lighting the fire and preparing a simple supper. 

After they’d eaten in near silence, Thomas gently got James’s attention and drew him into the other room for a semblance of privacy, though the door remained open between Silver and them. Thomas knew Silver must be listening quite intently, but there was simply no way James would want to let him out his sight at this moment, though Thomas was unsure whether this was due to mistrust toward his former quartermaster or fear that he would disappear if they averted their eyes for one second. In truth, Thomas doubted even James knew which it was. 

“Do you want him to stay?” Thomas asked, low enough that he hoped Mr. Silver would have some trouble hearing him. 

James’s face did a very complicated thing involving a furrow of his brow, a set of his jaw and a certain look in his eyes, combined with a nervous stroke of his calloused hand over his beard and moustache. It took a while for any answer at all to emerge, and when it did it was an admission of defeat in the form of a murmur. 

“I don’t know”, James admitted. 

“Hmm. Well, do you trust that we’ll be safe with him?” 

James looked at him, for a second, as though he had suggested they skin their cat – which, admittedly, Thomas had done once, on a particularly early morning when the small calico cat had woken him with her yowling and then tripped him up as soon as he had left the bed. In his defense, James had kept him up quite late that night and Thomas was quite prone to moodiness in the morning. She was, of course, absolutely fine, though no longer small by any definition. 

“Of course we are!” came the protest so eloquently expressed by those sea-green eyes. “What he did to me, he did to ensure my survival, and if he’d wanted you dead, he would have done it before I knew you’d survived. There is no reason now to hurt either of us.” 

“Not even this treasure that was the cause of such contention?” 

“When I wrote to Madi, I included the location of that treasure, codified in some literary excerpts, but knowing her, that money is in the right hands by now.” 

“Right, then. Shall we offer our spare room to your Mr. Silver?” 

James looked torn, but Thomas knew by now that being apart from Silver now would unsettle him more than having him in their house, so he was not surprised when James nodded. 

They returned together to the kitchen table, where Silver was still pretending he hadn’t been listening. How much he’d actually heard depended greatly on his hearing, but Thomas had a feeling he might just have heard the entire conversation. 

“I do apologize for the rudeness, Mr. Silver, but a conversation needed to take place and it felt quite a lot ruder to have it in front of you.” 

“That’s alright, Mr. McGraw.” 

“Now, would you please stay the night? We do have a room you could take, and I think we would all rest better if you didn’t attempt to get back to the village tonight.” 

“I…” Silver looked between Thomas and James, actively gauging the sincerity of the offer. “I did make arrangements at the inn…” 

“Mrs. Baker will keep your luggage until you return for it. If you truly don’t want to stay, we will not make you, but please do stay tonight. There is much to talk about still, and I suspect we could all use a bit of sleep and some time to think about it.” 

Silver still seemed uncertain, looking to James for a sign of his opinion. 

“Stay”, was all James had to say about the issue. 

Silver nodded. 

“Thank you. I…” but he did not seem to know what to say. “Thank you” he repeated in a small voice, his eyes back on his hands. 

“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Silver. I will go prepare your room.” 

Thomas could see that James considered offering himself for the task, but ultimately decided not to protest. Silver did protest, but Thomas ignored that and went to at least make the bed for their unexpected guest. 

  


* * *

  


At first, James was silent, not knowing what to say to his former quartermaster and friend. What did one say to the person who had simultaneously destroyed him and remade him? Even after having months to process his feelings on that subject, James still felt torn between anger at the betrayal and gratitude for the reunion with Thomas – though he would have preferred it to have happened in a different manner, and certainly in a different place. That still rankled, having been delivered in chains to a plantation run by a pretentious leech who lined his pockets with both the payments from the so-called noble families and the labor of their enslaved cast-outs. 

He sat down heavily on a chair by the kitchen table, close to Silver but out of his reach. He reached for his wine, took a sip and then decided to start elsewhere. 

“How did you find us?” 

Silver looked at him with those liquid eyes of his, and then back down at the dark wood of the table. 

“Madi”, he admitted. “She made sure to know your whereabouts, after she was finally sure I hadn’t killed you. I was told there had been a letter, not long after… well, after.” 

“Yes. I wrote to her as soon as we were out of the plantation. Mostly, I regretted not having said my goodbyes, but I was also in possession of a secret I no longer wanted.” 

“I assume you mean the cache. She did retrieve it. In fact, I have a letter for you, and a gift. Well, at the moment, the gift is under the roof of one Mrs. Baker, because I couldn’t carry it all the way out here, so I do hope she’s not the sort to steal from a cripple. I do have the letter on me” He drew said letter out from an inner pocket of his coat and laid it flat in the middle of the table. James reached for it, then smoothed his thumb over his given name, written in a hand he’d had little occasion to see, but that was at once familiar. 

The letter was simply addressed to James, no surname given, and he was grateful, not knowing which name he’d have preferred it to bear. Flint was, after all, all she’d known him as. At the same time, James felt he could no longer truly be that man. His true name, the name of his father, had yet to settle back onto him, feeling rather like wearing the coat of a man both taller and thinner than him: too big in some ways, and too small in others. The only reason James could bear to wear that name, after everything, was that he now shared it with Thomas. 

There had been a moment, when shedding Flint, that they had been unsure of what name to take. Flint was too recognizable; so was Hamilton, in a wholly different way, and neither of them wanted that link to Thomas’s father; Barlow had been an option, but that wound was too fresh for either of them to feel comfortable with, and using that plain name, chosen for its blandness upon their arrival in Nassau, did not feel like it would honor Miranda at all; her maiden name was both too prominent and too far removed from the last seventeen years of her life to mean anything now. That had left them with two options: either use James’s true name or chose one without meaning. In the end, sentiment had swayed Thomas, and the choice had been made. 

James looked up at Thomas as he came back into the kitchen, announcing the room to be ready. 

“Not to say you must retire there immediately, of course, but it is ready when it is needed. I’m afraid it’s not much, but there is a clean bed and privacy.” 

“Thank you.” Silver said. “In truth, I am quite tired, so if you don’t mind…?” He looked to James for confirmation. 

“Go ahead. I’ll bring you some water to clean your leg” And the rest of that mess, he wanted to say, but the very air between them felt fragile still. 

Thomas helped Silver to the spare bedroom by giving him his crutch and leading the way, and James followed with a bowl of clean water and a rag. Thomas hadn’t done much to the room, but it was relatively clean, the bed was made and there was a pile of clean clothes on the chest at the foot of the bed. They’d be big on Silver, especially as thin as he now was, but they’d surely be preferable to the filthy clothes he was wearing now. 

Thomas looked between the two of them, gauging the mood, and then excused himself and disappeared down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. 

James set the bowl and rags down on the small table, as Silver gingerly lowered himself into the single chair with a sigh. 

James hesitated for a bit. Silver looked at him curiously but didn’t say anything. 

“Do you need help?” James felt silly even asking, knowing Silver had cleaned his own stump for years now, but the need to say something, anything, had gotten the better of him. 

“Thanks, I’ll manage on my own.” 

James nodded. 

“Goodnight, then.” 

An odd look crossed Silver’s face. 

“Goodnight, Mr. McGraw.” 

  


* * *

  


When James reentered the kitchen, Thomas had settled down on a chair near the hearth and was apparently reading a book. He looked up at James and lifted an eyebrow in question. James let himself down onto a nearby chair and dragged a hand down his face. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to do about this?” 

Thomas closed his book, which James doubted he had been paying any attention to, and regarded him seriously. 

“What do you want to do?” James didn’t know the answer to that question. “What options do you see?” 

James sighed. 

“I don’t even know where to start. Flint would have probably killed him on the porch. But I can’t be him anymore, Thomas. All that death and destruction, and for what? Everything just kept getting worse and worse, and I’ve fucking had enough of it. It cost me Miranda, and Gates, and Eleanor, and in the end, it cost me Silver and Madi, too. For every victory I won, another friend dead. It was a fucking miserable life, and I won’t return to it.” 

“And, of course, you never wanted Mr. Silver dead.” 

James averted his eyes, somehow abashed at his transparency. Then he remembered the letter that sat, unread, on the kitchen table. He went to retrieve it, then sat back down and opened it, eager for any communication with Madi. God, he missed her steady presence, her clarity and determination. Maybe she could inspire him as to how to deal with Silver. 

He read the letter quickly, then went back and read it again, slowly so as to absorb every meaning. Thomas looked at him quizzically, not even pretending not to watch for his reaction. 

“She’s sent us part of the treasure. Silver did say he had a gift, but I thought he meant a couple of books or something.” He pondered the information written, and the meanings of it. “If I read this correctly, she’s sent us enough to live a modest life, at least for a couple of years.” 

“This surprises you?” Thomas asked. “I thought you said you were friends.” 

“I hold her in great regard. I’ve never been quite sure of the depth of her friendship towards me, but being who I was at the time, I cannot say I blame her for keeping it to herself. I rather thought she tolerated me mostly for him, and for the alliance.” 

“I’m sure that played a part in it, but you underestimate how endearing it can be to observe you when you are committed to someone.” 

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh hush, dear, I’m not quarreling with you. Whatever the nature of your relationship to Mr. Silver, you were, as far as I understand it, fully committed to him by the time you both met Ms. Scott, yes? And I have some very personal experience of how it feels to see your commitment, your loyalty, even when it is towards another. It rather gives one ideas as to how it might feel to be included in that fierce heart of yours.” 

James looked at Thomas, astonished. 

“Are you comparing Silver to Miranda? You know it was nothing like that.” 

“Whether you were sexually intimate would have hardly made a difference, I think, with how intimately you knew one another. And a commitment like yours, my darling James, could quite easily be mistaken for devotion.” Thomas seemed quite pleased with himself, and James truly didn’t know what to do with any of this. 

“Thomas…” he sighed, but didn’t know how to continue. 

“Oh, alright, I’ll leave it be for now. What else did Ms. Scott have to say?” 

“Nothing too unexpected. She will continue her efforts towards securing a future for her people, with some help from the treasure and without any input from white men. We are welcome to maintain correspondence with her through Max, whom she seems to have formed a solid agreement with. She would like to see me again, and to meet you, provided arrangements can be made. The one thing I was surprised at is that she requests that we use part of her gift to help Silver, even if he does not stay with us.” 

“Indeed? She must love him greatly, to wish him well after a betrayal so fundamental.” They both pondered this in silence for a moment. “Do you think this means he has her forgiveness?” 

“I don’t think she can forgive him, honestly. Not with what that war meant to her, to her people. I think she understands why he did it, but the war meant far more to her than it ever did to us. She had far more to lose, should England reclaim Nassau, and I know she could never accept being saved if it meant sacrificing the cause. In betraying us, Silver sabotaged the entire war, denying the Maroons the possibility of finding real freedom, and in the end, he was another white man taking away her choice. Sending him away was a mercy I suspect is owed to the depth of her feeling for him, but how could she ever trust him, after that?” 

“Love without trust is surely one of the greater tragedies in life. Is that why she’s sent him to us, do you suppose? Did she mean it as a punishment or a benediction?” 

“I suspect she had more than one reason, the main one being that he would have refused to leave her for anything else. Maybe she hoped I would forgive him, or maybe she just wanted us to have some closure. He certainly also served the role of the messenger.” 

“He is perhaps a peculiar choice for a messenger.” 

“Is he? Madi has many allies and subjects but, as loyal as they may be, I doubt she wants my survival and my whereabouts to become public knowledge. She will have kept that information only to those she could not hide it from, which would be Silver, and Max, and perhaps one close advisor or bodyguard, if she has one she trusts that much. The only one of those she could send away from Nassau for any period of time is Silver.” 

“So in sending him to us, she has simultaneously sent a message - and present - to her friend; used the only person already in possession of the information required and with strong personal motivation to do so; removed a person she cannot trust from her immediate vicinity; and set her lover on the path most likely to lead to his future happiness.” Thomas mused. “Truly a remarkable woman. Do you think I could meet her? I shall write to her, at least. You can enclose my letter to your own, can’t you, dear?” 

James smiled at his husband, unable and unwilling to squash the wave of fondness that overcame him at the utter delight Thomas had always shown at finding strong and accomplished women. 

“I’m sure she won’t object.” 

  



	2. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's first day at the McGraws's. 
> 
> Of harvesting, avoiding conversations and dicking down your husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering about the Implied Consent tag, James wakes Thomas by sitting on his dick. It is not mentioned in the text, but this is something they have agreed is ok between them, and have done before. Same for the breath play (Thomas chokes James a little).

John wakes slowly, with a heavy feeling behind his eyes that usually comes from sleeping either too much or not enough. The surprise is in the cause being the former today. He sits and rubs at his tired eyes, noting the muted sounds of a country morning in and around the house: some pots and cups clanking quietly in the kitchen, the clucking of the chickens, the cheerful chirping of some birds, the buzzing of bugs in the warm air. 

There is also, John realizes, the loud yowling of what is either a demon or a cat. Judging by the amused tone of Thomas’s voice, John would say it must be a usual companion, but truly, that does not exclude either option.

He feels wrung out, still tired from the long journey and from making the last bit of the trek without his crutch. 

Emotionally, he feels even more depleted. 

Leaving Madi had been difficult, and he did not want to think about how final it had felt to say goodbye to her on that shore, certain that she had not forgiven him, and uncertain as to whether she would ever allow him to see her again. But she had asked this from him, and John had felt powerless to deny her. After all this time, he had been forced to admit to himself that waiting for her, being near her, was not going to heal the wound he had inflicted upon them. 

That was a thought that could very well have been the end of John Silver, and the desperation brought by the realization had taken a toll on his weary body. The strength Flint had cultivated in him had been left to starve, leaving him weaker than he had been in years. 

This mission, though he recognized it first as a way of removing him from Madi’s side, had soon grown inside him as a need, the need to see Flint again, the need to know he had done something right, that something good had come from his actions, not just the absence of that looming bigger evil – the death of everyone important to him. 

In the few days between Madi asking him to find James and Thomas and his departure from her shores, John had wavered between wanting to stay, to honor his promise of waiting, however long it took for Madi to accept his actions – to accept him – and needing to see Flint, to meet Thomas, this overwhelming character known only from his absence, the man-shaped void in James’ soul. From the very moment Madi asked him, he knew he would be going. To this very moment, he was unsure whether this would be his penance, or the very end of John Silver. 

He is happy, in an excruciating way, that he found exactly what he had hoped: James is safe, and whole, and loved. Thomas is good for him and holds his well-being in higher regard than James ever did himself. They have a life, a comfortable, domestic life, far from sea and from war. 

And yet, John Silver is not satisfied. 

He had felt a tension, something undefined and unresolved, in James – he is no longer Flint, not entirely, but he doesn’t seem to have turned back into whoever he was before. He is nebulous, blurred around the edges, and despite himself, John fears what he might become next. If John only fit with the Dread Pirate Flint, fueled by righteous rage and love twisted into hate, was himself molded into what he is now by that influence – what hope does he have to fit into whoever James becomes next, shaped by love returned, by domestic simplicity with his fucking soulmate?

The answer, it seems to him, is that he doesn’t – he has no hopes of fitting into this life James and Thomas have built. And yet, he knows himself well enough to know, without having to search his soul, that he wants some part of it. He wants, more than anything, to be close to James, to never let him out of his sight again. He wants a simple life with no scheming, no fighting for his life, no gambling with his friend’s lives. He wants to rest. 

God, he is so tired. 

  


* * *

  


Thomas is trying to convince Marlowe, the demon cat, that yowling like a lost soul is unlikely to make him any quicker in feeding him, but of course the devil, like every other day so far, refuses to understand his reasoning. He has just managed to feed the beast and his sister, booping his shockingly orange forehead affectionately and scratching behind Penelope’s ears, when James comes in from tending to the chickens, a basket of eggs in one hand and a bag with a handful of oranges in the other. 

James looks at him questioningly, and Thomas shakes his head. Breakfast has been ready for a long while now, and neither of them had gotten up early, but Silver still hasn’t showed himself. If he is still sleeping, then he either had a terrible night or he has been asleep for well over twelve hours. 

James just humphs, puts his spoils down on the counter and walks over to knock on the bedroom door, gently calling for Silver. Hearing only a vague mumble in response, James quietly opens the door and steps into the room. 

  


* * *

  


John looks terrible.

His long dark curls are an unsightly mess, the clothes he slept in clearly don’t fit him right, and he looks even more exhausted than when James left the room the night before. His eyes look both too shiny and somehow too dull, as if they are slightly out of focus. His skin looks pale under the grime, set off by the dark shadows under his eyes. His beard looks like it hasn’t been tended to in weeks. 

“Good morning” John greets, nonetheless, with a smile.

“You look terrible” is what comes out of James’s mouth instead of what he intended to say. 

The smile on John’s face changes into more of a grimace, and his eyes are lowered as he contemplates how to respond to that.

“Did you not sleep?”

“Oh no, I slept for quite a long time, actually.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well, then?” James deduced. Silver’s silence was enough of an answer for James, at least for now. If John’s days had been even half as strained as James imagined them to be, between living with Madi’s anger, being generally regarded as a traitor and not having anything meaningful to do, then James could not imagine his nights having been particularly restful since their separation. Hell, even before Skeleton Island, how long had it been since Silver had gotten a full night’s sleep? The position of Quartermaster aboard Flint’s ship was not a relaxing one and being King of Pirates had certainly not meant any less responsibility. 

“Well, come have breakfast. Thomas will worry if you don’t eat.” And so would he, but that felt like admitting something he wasn’t ready for. 

John nodded, started to say something, then changed his mind, looked down at his stump blankly.

“Do you need help?”

John shook his head, and James got the distinct impression that he was shaking his thoughts away even more than he was denying the need for help. 

“Thank you, but I’ve become quite adept with the crutch.” 

“Did you lose the peg again?”

“In a way…” John hesitated. “I… may have thrown it in the sea.”

“You threw your peg leg in the sea?” James didn’t know if he was more amused or alarmed.

“I may have been a little drunk.”

James lifted one eyebrow.

“And a little maudlin.”

“So you threw your leg into the sea.”

“I think it made sense at the time, since that’s where the original went, as well as the first peg.”

James snorted. 

“I’m sure it did, after drinking half an ocean’s worth of rum.”

John grinned at him, and James felt a little bit of the tension in his chest ease.

“Come on then, I’m starving.”

  


* * *

  


James seemed different during breakfast, a bit more at ease, a little less drawn inward. 

Thomas noted this, as well as the way James had silently heaped a bit more food onto John’s plate. He also noted the tentative way John looked at both James and himself. 

John’s exhaustion had not escaped his notice, either. He looked, if anything, more tired than he had last night, and Thomas was unsure if it was just the better visibility afforded by the bright sunlight, or if the effects of his journey were catching up to him, or if he hadn’t slept at all. 

After breakfast had been eaten and cleared away, James looked between the two of them, and hesitantly brought up his plans for the day, which involved a lot of vegetables and even some fruit – it was harvest time for some of the crops James had planted and tended to, mostly by himself, for the past few months. 

Thomas’s plan for today had not been fully formed as of yet, involving only a vague notion of preparing space and materials for the storage of said crops – they were maybe not very coordinated yet, but Thomas had never really had to think about the management of crops before. Even at the plantation, the closest he had been to this side of life, he had not had to think about it. He had been told what to do, and he had done it. He had absorbed some knowledge of the growth cycle of sugarcane, but not much that could be of use to them now.

With John here, there were a few more things to do. First, having decided that John was to stay in the guest room for now, they should go to the inn and recover John’s luggage (and assure Mrs. Baker that they had not killed him, which, knowing that woman’s imagination, was her immediate assumption as soon as she realized he hadn't come back that night). It had also occurred to Thomas to ask their neighbors for advice about the crops and arrange for some trades. 

“Perhaps, for today, we should stay home and give John a chance to rest. Mrs. Baker will likely feel better to release his luggage to him personally, but I think she might object to dragging him all the way to the village and back in his current state.”

John looked like he might object, but Thomas could see him decide to agree.

“I will help James today. John, please rest. We will go to the village tomorrow, if that suits you, to get your things and go to the market. I do not think it will do any of us any good to go today.”

With that settled, James set out to his crops and Thomas got John some water and a cloth to clean himself with and then helped him back to bed in order to nap. Then, he went on to tidy the larder and gather whatever boxes and crates he could find in order to store the produce until he knew what to do with it. He also found a number of big jars and pots, which he supposed could be useful for pickling and salting, and made a note to ask Mrs. Cooper about it. He would also need to get more salt and vinegar, he supposed. 

Having done all that he could - or all he could think of – to prepare for today’s harvest, he decided to join James on the field. On his way out, he stopped by the guest room to check on Silver, finding the door ajar and a loudly purring beast rolled up on John’s belly. 

Thomas found himself caught, within seconds, in the startlingly blue gaze of the former pirate king. 

“Can’t go back to sleep?” Thomas whispered, feeling silly for it afterward. Who would they disturb by speaking normally?

“I’ve already slept more tonight than my body is used to” John admitted, and Thomas filed that bit of knowledge away for future consideration. John’s eyes followed the movement of his hand on orange fur. “What’s his name?”

Thomas smiled affectionately.

“That little demon is Marlowe. Do not let him fool you, he is an absolute menace, and no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise, I promise he is fed twice a day, and I have not forgotten once.”

“A bit of a swindler, is he?”

That got a distinctly ungentlemanlike snort out of Thomas. 

“He is a pathological liar and he is obsessed with food. He will do just about anything to get more food, which thankfully involves mousing. Otherwise I’m sure his siter, Penelope, would have gotten fat on all the mice we had in this house.”

Silver hummed and kept petting Marlowe the cat, not meeting Thomas’s eye.

“Do you want to stay and rest some more, even if you cannot sleep, or would you like to come outside with me? I was just on my way out to go help James.”

“I… am not sure how much help I can be, today.”

“Oh, I don’t intend to put you to work today, I merely thought you might like to see a bit more of your surroundings, and perhaps some company.”

Another short silence, and then John sat up, gently dislodging a very disgruntled cat and depositing him on the bed, where he promptly assumed the loaf position and glared at John.

  


* * *

  


They end up spending a few hours on the land, James harvesting methodically, John sitting on a stool they dragged outside, and Thomas talking John through the crops they have, some ideas they have for the future, some failed experiments of their early farming days (which are not so far in the past) and what they are planning to do with everything they are harvesting now. Thomas, as always, leads most of the conversation, though John says enough to show his interest in the subject – and to send Thomas on an entire tangent about apples – and James is there to laughingly correct whenever Thomas exaggerates or is factually incorrect.

In the afternoon, they end up in the kitchen, surrounded by boxes, crates and baskets full of the vegetables they harvested, trying to decide what they can keep, what should get preserved and how much they should try to trade away. Silver has relaxed enough to tell Thomas some stories of his early days in Nassau (stories James is almost sure are entirely made up, but cannot refute) and slows them down considerably.

It is almost easy, except for the underlying tension that is still very much present between James and Silver, and that James sometimes perceives between John and Thomas, as well. 

  


* * *

  


The evening is quiet, and after a dinner involving rather a lot of fresh vegetables, they decide on their plans for the next day – talking to their neighbors, the Coopers, about preserving their harvest, and asking to borrow their horse and cart in order to go into the village to retrieve John’s luggage and some supplies. The trip itself, along with the errands they need to run while in the village, shouldn’t take more than half a day, so they can easily fit that into the afternoon, if they can have the horse.

John retires early, claiming exhaustion, and although James believes him, he also knows Silver is avoiding them so as not to have to seriously talk to them, now that the mood has moved away from the easy companionship that the physical tasks allowed between them. 

By the look Thomas sends James’s way once John is out of the room, he assumes he is not the only one to think so. 

It isn’t until later though, between kisses and caresses in the relative privacy of their own bedroom, that Thomas mentions it.

“You should talk to John” he says, one hand caressing down James’s muscled neck and into the groove separating it from his shoulder, over to the small moon inked into his skin. James’s hand stalls in his slow exploration of the planes of Thomas’s back, and he sighs onto Thomas’s lips.

“I know.” He tips his head to rest their foreheads together, arm tightening around Thomas. “I wish I knew what to say to him.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh? Do you have opinions?” James teases, that lovely little smirk playing on his lips, and Thomas can’t not kiss him.

“You could start by making it clear to him that he is welcome to stay – don’t look at me like that, James, you are more at ease just by having him here. Of course it will take you both some time to work through your issues, but you cannot tell me you don’t want him to stay.”

James looks pensive, but he doesn’t – cannot – deny the truth in that. 

“I don’t like where we left things, back then. The trust we built, the companionship, the loyalty… it all felt like it was leading somewhere, that there was some common destination that we were both working toward, even if we couldn’t articulate what it was. Sometimes I felt like I was imagining the depth of it, but now, I don’t think I was.”

Thomas’s gaze is searching his, finding all the secrets James cannot bear to hide, not from him.

“You loved each other.”

“I believe we were well on our way, yes.”

Thomas’s gaze is steady, and earnest, and his thumb gently caresses James’s cheekbone, fingers splayed behind his ear and into his hair.

“James, love. You deserve to see this through to its natural conclusion.”

“And what is that?”

“Well, we don’t know that yet, of course. Maybe your connection will fade, now that it has been betrayed, or maybe it will grow stronger for having been tested. Either way, I think you will need some time with John in order to figure it out, and I think it will be better to know.”

James sighs again, his gaze drawing inward in contemplation. Thomas resumes his light caresses and lets his lover think.

“Thomas?” James calls, after a minute of introspection, his voice soft as ever.

“Yes, my love?”

“Where do you stand in all of this?”

Thomas smiles at his beautiful, retired pirate captain.

“Where I always stand, James: right by your side.”

“So if this thing with John progresses...?”

“Your relationship to John does not change our relationship to each other, James. I will remain your lover, your partner, until that is no longer what we both want. Should your relationship to John progress in that direction, then I’m sure we can find a way to share your attention. You do recall, I have done so before.”

The mention brings a smile to James’s lips, as intended.

“It was rather a different arrangement, what with you being married to one another before either of you even met me.”

“That much is true, but unless John is completely set against sharing a lover, we can find a way to make it work. We shall need to be quite honest with each other, as well as John, to avoid any hurt feelings, but James, there is very little I would not do for you.”

James pulls him close with a broad hand around his neck, fingertips digging rhythmically into his scalp as he kisses Thomas slowly, thoroughly, and without shame. When he pulls back, Thomas is breathing heavier, his pupils a bit more dilated and his hips pressed more tightly to James’s than they had been a minute before. 

“I love you, Thomas.” James still says it like a secret, soft and low into the small space between them, and it feels hard-won every time Thomas hears the words. 

“I love you too, James.” And it has always been so easy for Thomas to say, even when he shouldn’t, even when saying the words had meant putting his heart on the line. It is just as easy to fall back into kissing James, and even easier to let himself deepen the kiss, give it intent, and move on top of his James, settling most of his weight onto his deliciously thick torso.

A soft moan works its way from deep in James’s throat, a deeply content little sound, and Thomas’s hands move to his thighs, firmly grasping at the muscle there and pressing them in tighter against his own hips. James wraps his legs around Thomas’s thighs, firmly anchoring himself to Thomas, arms wrapped around his back to grasp at the back of his neck, fingertips of one hand playing with the hairs at the base of Thomas’s skull. 

This, Thomas thinks, is what gives meaning to life. To love, simply and joyfully, to give pleasure to one another, is to give purpose to all the hardships that have led them both here. He will not thank his father for his villainy, or even come close to forgiveness, but he will love James and be content with his fate. 

“Thomas” James calls, his voice a breathy whisper against his lips.

“Yes, my love?” Thomas’s nose brushes lightly along James’s, making his eyelashes flutter in an enticing little flick. 

“Will you take me?”

Fondness washes over Thomas like the incoming tide, along with pride at how far James has come in admitting what he wants, in asking for it, openly and trusting Thomas to give it to him.

“Whenever the urge strikes you, my dear, and with great pleasure.”

James laughs, his nose scrunching up adorably, and then grinds his cock firmly against Thomas’s abdomen. 

“How about now, then?”

“Hmm, yes.” Thomas agrees, and dives back in for another deep kiss. 

Given renewed purpose, his hands set about a few simple tasks: they retrieve the oil that lives right next to their bed, intended exactly for this use, slick themselves with it and find their way between James’s legs. His left hand easily wraps around James’s cock, stroking it lovingly before moving lower to hold everything out of the way for his right hand to delve slowly into James, one knuckle at a time, to the rhythm of James’s clenching and relaxing body and to the sound of little sighs and moans.

At the first press of the second finger, James pulls him down insistently to gain access to his mouth and kisses him, over and over, as his legs wind tighter around Thomas’s waist and his moans get needier. Thomas tries to gentle him, his left hand stroking the side of his face, his right hand slowing down while buried deep inside, his kisses turning slow and gentle, but James is wound tight with want. His hips start grinding onto Thomas’s hand, fucking himself with it, his moans take on a plaintive edge, his hands find Thomas’s ass and pull him in towards his own body.

“Thomas, please” James’s voice has taken on a slightly nasally intonation, his eyebrows drawn together in a vexed little frown. 

“What do you need, James?” Thomas is fully prepared to give this man anything he so much as idly contemplates wanting, God help him, and he cannot fathom ever having lived differently.

“Need you. Need to come, need your cock in me already.”

“And in which order would you like those things?”

James looks at him for a moment, puzzled, then visibly registers Thomas’s meaning and squirms on his fingers.

“Hnng. Make me come first, with your fingers, and then fuck me after, fill me up.”

Thomas smiles at him, besotted, and very carefully does not mention the blush riding high on James’s freckled cheekbones. Instead, he resumes kissing James, first on those luscious lips, then along his jawline, onto his pierced earlobe and the sensitive spot just behind it, then down his exposed throat, licking and nibling on the skin there. All the while, two fingers of his right hand are working themselves deeper into James’s ass, caressing him from the inside, in search of a certain sweet spot of the male anatomy.

Thomas uses the weight of his own body to ground James’s to the bed, his belly rubbing firmly against James’s cock, which is getting slicker with each deep thrust of his fingers. He finally finds what he is looking for, and uses it to his advantage, steadily drawing James toward orgasm with every beckoning gesture of his hand. He can feel James’s body growing tense beneath his, thrusting his cock against Thomas, his breath hitching more often than not, his fingers squeezing randomly into Thomas’s flesh, and he knows he is close to his goal. He reaches his left hand toward James’s throat, takes his mouth in a relentless kiss and carefully rests more and more of his weight onto his left hand, right onto James’s trusting throat, as his right hand grinds firmly into him.

James comes with a whimper, his body drawn tight as a bowstring, with tears in his eyes, and Thomas relishes in all of this, as well as the come that smears between them. 

“Thomas” James says, on a sigh, as his body relaxes back into the bed, legs still wound around Thomas’s, one hand still holding onto a buttock as the other one falls to the mattress. 

“James” Thomas answers, before licking back into James’s mouth, careful not to impede his breathing too much, letting him slowly catch his breath.

“Please, Thomas. Now” And Thomas will not deny him, so he swipes one hand over their bellies, collecting as much spend as he can, and rubs it over James’s hole, already slick with oil and so ready for him. He lifts up slightly in order to look James in the eyes as he aligns his cock and starts putting some of his weight behind it, feeling James bear down on him and slowly welcome him inside.

Halfway into James’s marvelous ass, the slow drag starts to feel a little dry, so Thomas draws back to apply some more oil, and maybe appreciate the view a little bit. James looks quite debauched, flushed and still breathing hard, a light sheen of sweat all over him and a heavier sheen of oil right where Thomas’s cock drives into him with slow rolls of his hips, James’s cock lying soft and vulnerable against the crease of his thigh, still soiled with his come. 

The sight alone has Thomas prolong the next inward thrust until his cock is completely and firmly sheathed inside his lover, who moans a little at the feeling and arches his spine a bit, calling Thomas’s attention to his slightly rounded belly and his well-muscled chest. Thomas’s hands slowly follow the trail of his eyes, caressing all of the lovely points of interest on James’s torso, the curve under his bellybutton, the dip under his heaving ribs, the swell of his pecs and the small nubs of his nipples, the rise and fall of his collarbone into his neck, those marvelous shoulders. 

While his hands were thus occupied, his hips took it upon themselves to start a slow grind into James, barely drawing back but stimulating them both with some movement. Thomas sighs as he settles the weight of his torso back onto James’s and moves both hands under James’s arms to hold onto his shoulders and use them as leverage against the upward movement of his slow thrusts. 

James gently pulls their lips back together with a slow pressure at the back of his neck, and Thomas honestly believes he has never felt more at home, more at peace with himself and the world than he does right now, entangled with his James, with Long John Silver presumably sleeping right across the hall, in the little house they own, together, in the Americas. But James is pulling lightly at his hair, his lips quirked up into a little smile, and his legs are winding tighter around Thomas’s hips, so he supposes the time for thinking is quite past, now.

Of course, he obliges his lover, and devotes his full attention to the slow, deep rhythm of his hips against James’s, of his cock into James’s ass, of his balls against James’s rim, and, occasionally, of his glans against James’s prostate. James, the devious plotter, has somehow found the oil again and is now rubbing those lovely fingers between Thomas’s cheeks, lightly pressing in before glancing back out, playing with his hole more than penetrating him, and Thomas really needs to kiss his husband, to bite into those delicious upturned lips, to clack into those ferally exposed teeth with his own and oh, when did their rhythm get so intense? 

The sounds of skin against skin are loud in the late evening air, as is the occasional scrape of the bed against the floor, and Thomas hears a low keening noise before he registers that James’s fingers are well and truly inside him now, thick and slick, and that noise just left his own throat. 

“James” is the only word he is capable of communicating, all of a sudden, but James understands perfectly well and wraps himself more tightly around Thomas, his fingers pumping harder into him, his powerful thighs barely giving him room to retreat from his body, and Thomas moans his release into his lover’s mouth, shaking with the force of it, and then with the overstimulation of feeling James clench around his cock after his orgasm abates. He has to draw back from the kiss in order to catch his breath properly, but James doesn’t let him go further than that, keeps him right there, softening cock still inside him, two fingers in Thomas’s hole, tightly cocooned between all of James’s limbs. 

“James” he moans again, utterly satisfied, and stays right where James wants him. 

They stay like that for a while, and Thomas is so well relaxed that he must doze off, because later, he wakes up, lying on his back, as James lowers himself onto his hard cock.

“James” is the first sound out of his mouth, as both his hands fly to his lover’s hips to pull them down, his own rising of their own accord to bury himself in his husband again. James grins at him in the candlelight, strokes his own hard cock and slowly starts riding Thomas, just a gentle roll of his generous hips, his thighs straining beautifully under Thomas’s hands.

“My turn”, James says, and Thomas would give him anything.

  


* * *

  


Across the hall, John Silver stares at the ceiling, both hands resting on his stomach.


End file.
